


The Case of the Fainting Sister

by AuroraDefae



Series: Aubrianna Maren Holmes [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Mrs. Holmes mysteriously vanished with her daughter, Aubrianna Maren Holmes. She was proclaimed dead, and Sherlock is haunted by memories. Now she is back from the grave, having apparently lived right under his nose in the 'homeless city', a previously abandoned section of London. Her settling back into Sherlock's life is rocky, as she solved mysteries too, and has her fair share of enemies. Between random bouts of illness as she recovers from attempts on her life, she further complicates not only Sherlock's life, but that of Lestrade's Division, attracting press attention. </p><p>Will her life with her brother be turmoil?<br/>Will her past be a problem?<br/>And what happens when Moriarty gets tangled in the web that she unintentionally weaves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read prologue first please. This is my first fanfic/fiction I have ever written. Got so obsessed with it, I wrote it in eleven days. I based Aubrianna/Aubri on myself so the character wouldn't seem forced.  
> Also- song choice- It's from the "Anastasia" that was animated, and was the song that reunited the lost daughter to her mother. Though that was pretty relevant. 
> 
> Please, please don't hold back in commenting. I can take it. So, hopefully enjoy! :) ~Aurora

I detach myself from the wall as Sherlock walks into the distance, his coat flapping out behind him. I take in the differences ten years have taken from the young boy I had known before I had run away from him and Mycroft. His face is sharper, more angular. He is taller, at least a foot or two more than me. I sigh. Lets get this over with. I walked to the door of 221B, testing the door. Locked. I nimbly slide a hairpin out of my hair and pick the lock, the door creaking open. I hear it creak shut behind me as I pad up the stairs.

Even after trying to steel myself for the mess of his flat, I still am taken aback by the explosion of the disaster scene. I timidly knock on the doorframe. Hearing John moving around beyond my view, I walk in, weaving around stacks of books and papers. "Hello John," I say smiling.

"Sherlock just left if you're looking for him...I can assume that's why you're here, at least, I mean..." he trailed off.

"I guess I'll wait then. And by the way, the name is Aubrianna. Aubrianna Holmes."

I can see the shock on his face, and feel his eyes following me as I examine the couch, looking for anything gross before I flop on it.

"So...Sherlock has a sister. Like a real sister. He's never told me about you," John says disjointedly, trying to make conversation.

"John, the reason he never told you about me is well...everyone, except maybe our mum I guess, if she’s even alive, they all think I am...dead."

"What is it about Sherlock that causes everyone to fake their deaths?" groans John as he drops into a chair.

"Well, this is a new development," I say tiredly. Sherlock had always been erratic, causing a menagerie of odd effects around him. We sat in silence as I stared at the yellow face that someone had apparently spray-painted on the wall, riddled with bullet holes. Feeling as if it is staring at me, I look in the other direction to see a skull leering at me. I ignore my rumbling stomach, because from what I have heard, there would be eyeballs looking back at me in the fridge. I clear my throat, and John looks up.

"So.. If i were to get something out of the fridge, what body part are in there currently?" John smiles, and I can see how Johnlock has become a rumor around the streets. "Last time I looked, it was fingers, I am pretty sure," replied John, obviously fighting back laughter at my disgusted face. "A..Aubrianna , I think we have a yogurt that's not expired if you want it." I fought to get up from the couch, heading to the kitchen as my stomach rumbled louder. I found the yogurt, diverting my eyes from the fingers. I instinctively tried the drawer to my immediate left, finding a spoon. As I opened the yogurt, I heard a door slam downstairs, and I knew it is Sherlock.

I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe. I’m really here.

Coming here was my last chance at living another day; I would certainly have died tonight. The floor by the door creaks, and I steel myself for when Sherlock sees me.

"Who's here, John?" comes my brother's deep voice. I take a deep breath, and walk to the kitchen doorway.

"Sherlock, well... it's your sister, Aubrianna , back from the dead apparently," at this, he points to me, and Sherlock turns slowly.

He jumps a little when our eyes meet, and seems shocked to silence as a minute passes. I break our staring contest, saying, "Hello brother. Now, not to be seemingly unexcited to see you, but I need medical attention after ten years on the street," I choke out. " This is my first food in a week, my ankle’s been infected and broken, despite a doctor’s splint, and I need something to drink.”

I see John rising out of his chair, and I slowly slide down the wall, putting out my ankle as I dig the spoon into my yogurt.

“Oh, and by the way Sher, call Mycroft. I came here first. He doesn’t know I’m alive yet.” Sherlock slid his phone out, keeping his eyes on me as if to make sure I am still real. I hear the phone ringing on the other end, and catch an annoyed hello before Sherlock holds the phone to his ear, mumbling something indecipherable. I suddenly feel even more dizzy, and John’s face began to spin in front of me.

“Oh my god, Sherlock...Aubrianna’s fainting!” John cried, and then the world went black.  



	2. Chapter 2

I can hear voices buzzing around me, and feel a cold rag on my forehead. My ankle felt as if it is on fire, and I wince. I open my eyes, and the voices die down. Suddenly, someone cries, “Aubrianna!” and a hand squeezes my wrist, enclosing my tiny hand in theirs. I sluggishly turn my head, stars dancing. I see the curly hair of Sherlock, and I attempt a smile which probably comes out more of a grimace. “It’s going to be all right Bri,” Sherlock whispers, using his secret name for me.

I grimace again, trying to move my tongue, “My..Mycro..,” I try to speak, but my mouth wouldn’t work right. Something moves behind Sherlock, and what has to be Mycroft came into my view. Oh gosh. He is balding. I gape, thoroughly surprised. He clears his throat and asks, “What exactly happened to her Sherlock? Go on, make a deduction.” Before Sherlock can reply, I try to form my mouth to speak again. “Wa..wa..water..,” I am able to stutter out. God, I feel defenseless. I feel a cup pressed to my lips and someone props me up. My head spins as I jabber nonsense. Then the liquid touches my lips, and I try to grab the cup to drink it down, near delirious with dehydration. As my anonymous savior slowly gives me water, my head clears slightly, and the stars disappeared.

As the cup is pulled away, I smile for real this time, and say, “Thank you..John,” as my eyes focus. I can feel everyone's relief as they relax. Sherlock squeezes my hand again, and asks, “Can you tell us what’s happened to you, everything you can remember of these ten years?” I take a deep breath, taking in the three concerned and attentive faces, my two brothers and the doctor.

“I don’t remember many details from the first handful of years, but I do remember mum finding an abandoned house in the homeless neighborhood, and volunteering to tutor for food, so I could eat. Those were scary years. I never knew if I is going to starve. If I had known the way back to our house, I just might have run back home. Around when I is ten or eleven, mum just...disappeared.”

“No one has seen her since, or even knows why she left me, but I is looked after until I turned 15, and then thrust upon the street. I tried to solve mysteries like you have always done, Sherlock, but I couldn’t do it. I then found a guitar in a dumpster, and had assorted street performers teach me how to play."

"After I learned some songs, I took up unclaimed street corners, playing it for tips, but I also became a listener for stressed people. That is when I discovered that although I couldn't deduce like you, I could solve mysteries in an altogether different way-I know people. I know their habit and fears. I can tell how someone is feeling. I quickly solved a case of minor kidnapping, getting medical attention for my then broken ankle. I began to feel more secure as I solved minor stuff, finding lost things and explaining erratic behavior." At this statement, Sherlock smiled as if to say: ‘Hey there's hope for you yet, Aubri.’ I stick my tongue out, and finish my story.

"So, eventually, you started to show up in the papers and news,and I decided to come find you because business is slow and people were suspicious of me. That is how I ended up here," I finish quickly, a bit exhausted. I had conveniently left out how my ankle had gotten broken in the first place (giant fight where a girl is being mugged), that I had been through at least four attempts on my life, or that I been sleeping in a box behind a dumpster for safety.

After my story, we all sit in silence, Sherlock deep in thought while I doze off. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone goes off, and I scream a little as I jump. I watch as Sherlock pulls it out and put it to his ear. “H’llo...Okay....but,..Okay, I’ll come” his brow furrows as he put his phone back into his pocket, standing up. He glances at John and nods, then turns to Mycroft saying, “Look after Aubrianna. I have to go solve a murder.” My heart skips and sinks at the same moment. I want to follow Sherlock there, and watch my brother in action. Maybe even contribute with my knowledge of human actions and habits. I slipped out of bed before Mycroft can stop me, hopping on my good foot to the door after Sherlock. “Sherlock!” I shout. thump. “I’m..” thump. “Coming with..” thump. “You,” I finish, panting heavily, as I reach where he and John are standing, getting ready.

“Aubrianna Maren Holmes, you absolutely may not. Get back to bed this instant,” says Sherlock when he sees me. Glaring at him, I say, “John, bring me a cane.” He nervously glances at Sherlock before going to another room, returning with a cane. I take it, grabbing my bag as I hobble to the door, ignoring Sherlock as he followed me, sighing in exasperation. Mycroft came out in time to see us all leaving, only mildly and quietly objecting before collapsing in a chair, complaining about the Holmes family.

“Oh and Aubrianna,” says Sherlock all sweet of a sudden, “Next time, please knock or ring instead of picking the lock on the front door. It makes our life that much more secure.” I limp out, ignoring him for his obvious sarcasm. Standing on one foot, I hail a taxi with the cane before Sherlock can. John helps me into the cab, then gets in, sitting between Sherlock and I. Next thing I know, I glance towards Sherlock, who is looking at me, and he burst out laughing as only the sociopath I known can. I shake my head, putting it in my hands. “One of these days Sherlock..I swear.. one of these days...,” I mutter.

Fifteen or so minutes later, the cab stops and John helps me clamber out. Feeling the part of the annoying little sister, I stand still and lightly hit Sherlock with the cane, saying, “Hey Sher, carry me. ShEEER!” He glances at me, and I try to suppress my laughter as he exasperatedly exhales, stooping so I can piggyback him. I stick the cane into the belt loop on my jeans, wrapping my arms tightly around him as he stands up to his enormous height. With him carrying me, and John walking besides us, we approach the house that we had pulled in front of.

A man with silver hair comes running out of it, approaching Sherlock, evidently surprised at seeing me. “Wh-Who is that Sherlock?” he tries to ask, but Sherlock is resolutely ignoring everyone and walking towards the house, his eyes darting around, making deductions. I call back to the man before we go through the door, “I’m his sister! Nice to meet you sir.” John and the stranger came in, and I lean down and back to shake his hand. “Aubrianna, at your service,” I say, smiling. His hands and smile are warm as he shakes mine, replying, “Greg Lestrade. Nice to meet you.”

“Can everyone just shut up? I can’t think!” complains Sherlock as we approach what I guess is the living room. I mimick his outburst as his eyes continued darting around.

Finally, we reach the body. It is a woman, sitting up in a fancy chair, her sightless eyes staring at us.

Remembering Sherlock's tendency to forget everything when he is thinking, I prepare for the moment when I am dropped, wriggling off of him and dropping hard onto the Persian carpet. I pull the cane out of my belt loop, leaning heavily onto it. Seeing a bookcase, I walk over and examine it. Every book is coated in dust except for a worn-out Latin dictionary. I slide the heavy volume out. It is bound in dark red leather, and is warm as if the lady...as if she had held it right before dying. I drop the book screaming my head off. It lands with a thump, opening to the most viewed page. The word Lupus is highlighted, and the rest of the page torn out. "Hey Sherlock, you should look at this," I say, turning. Realizing he is not listening, I try to shout louder. He continues examining. "Sherlock! Sher! Sheeeeer!" Using his nickname catches his attention from where he is examining the woman's fingernails. He walked over to where I am pointing at the book, his eyes drinking it in.

He breaths in, and starts ranting. He speaks so fast that most of it is lost on me; I catch “Lupus!” “Ink,” “Yellow,” and the phrase, “Come on Aubrianna!” as he promptly tries to drag me by the wrist. I cry out, my ankle being twerked. He pauses to look at me as if wondering what in the world I am, before eventually coming back to earth and releasing my hand. John, who had been trying to stay out of the way, now came to my side and put my arm around his shoulder, helping me walk. I weakly smile at him as we slowly walk out. Sherlock is already trying to hail a taxi as we creep into the dying sunlight. “John..John. I feel faint aga..,” and then the world goes black for the second time.  
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	3. Chapter 3

Once again, I awake dazed, lying in a bed. I vaguely hear the door click shut, and a chair squeaking as someone settles into it. My eyes feel like lead as I try to open them, turning my head. John's face slowly swims into focus. He is staring at his phone, not having noticed I had awakened yet. "...John..." I began tiredly. He quickly glances away from his phone, setting it on the nightstand. "How are you Aubrianna? " he says, half smiling without his eyes, which are concerned. "Food," I says simply, not really following the flow of conversation. My stomach chooses this time to growl super loud.

He gets up, stretching. He walks to the door and disappears through it. I sit up slowly, my muscles straining. I hear a buzz as John gets a new text message. I look over, and read;

>SHERLOCK:  
>How’s Aubrianna ?  
>Following lead. May be out late.

I guiltily look away from the phone as John comes back into the room with a tray of food. He sets it up, arranging it just so. Waiting to see I can eat, he sits down and picks up his phone. I looked up to see him glance at me, then return to pressing buttons on it. I clear my throat, and ask, “How’s the case going?” John glances up again, then continued typing while he answered, “I don’t know.” Now to speak of it, he sounded a bit hurt that he isn’t out with Sherlock. I sit there, eating my food, formulating my sentence, as this seemed a sensitive subject right now.

“...John, why isn’t Mycroft here?” I say tentatively. Not only does this make him a bit nervous, but it brings foreign-looking disgust to his face. “Because Aubrianna, he doesn’t want anything to do with your brother, or even you, anymore apparently.” I sit up straighter at this news, motioning for John to give me his phone. He hesitates for a moment before clicking some buttons and handing me it. The phone rings three times, then I hear Mycroft’s annoyed voice come on after a click. “Now listen here, Mycroft,” I start before he can say anything. “You should be here, taking responsibility for me. Why do you think mum ran away with me? Let John be out with Sherlock. I’m sure you aren’t doing something important,” at this, I hang up on him, handing the phone back to John. He takes it with a shocked look as I smile sweetly at him, resuming my eating.

A few minutes later, I hear a slam downstairs and someone stomping up the stairs. The door to the room bursts open, and Mycroft stands there, a tad angry. I just raise my eyebrows at him and finish my food, slurping up the noodles John had given me. John clears his throat, opens his mouth, shuts it into a tight line, and then decides to awkwardly wave as he walks out rather quickly. I sit there in a staring contest with Mycroft as we listen to John get ready. As soon as the door downstairs slams, he starts speaking calmly, increasing to a yell. “Aubrianna Maren Holmes, what in the name of everything dear to us, did you mean by ‘why do you think mum ran away with me?’ What, in the name of god, do you mean by that? Tell me!” He collapses in the chair at the end of his tirade, angrily sobbing. I am shocked to silence. He had always been the one to keep his cool. Always.

“Mycroft..,”I start, staring at my hands. “She, our m..mum, thought that between Sherlock’s sociopathic diagnosis and your aloofness, that I would develop problems too. She never meant to disappear. She thought she could do it; that she could raise me in a way to dissolve any social problems I might have inherited from father’s side.”

“And yet I did. I can physically feel what others are feeling. Your anger is coming off of you in waves, mixed with the loneliness of the boy who never cried. Some..Sometimes, walking in the streets makes me sick. All those unchecked emotions- it’s horrible. Just horrible. Just please, leave. I can’t- I need to remember my own emotions. I’m sorry.” I peek a look at Mycroft from behind my hair, and I am shocked to discover his eyes are wet. “Aubrianna..I never knew. None of us ever knew. We Holmses are messed up, aren’t we?” At this, he stands up and walks to the doorframe. Before he continued, I quickly asked, “Can I have your phone to text Sher?” He takes it out, tosses it at me, and continues into the living room. I turn it on, quickly guessing the password (Lightbringer) and open messaging.

>How’s the case going, Sher?  
>Hurry Home  
>~Aubri

Waiting for him to text back was making me completely antsy; I never functioned well being bedridden. I was trying to write poetry in my head when the phone buzzed, surprising me.

>Mycro’s there??  
>How r u?

I quickly reply back:

>yea, he is.  
>Bored.to.death.HALP X(

I discover that if I lay sideways, half out of the bed, I could see the street outside. This simply wouldn’t do. I slowly slide out of bed, grabbing the cane as I stand up. I ignore the buzzing phone, waiting for my dizziness to pass and my legs to stop protesting. When I eventually feel I can walk, I slowly limp to the door which Mycroft had shut. I ease it open as silently as I can, not wanting another recitation of my full name from one of my brothers. As I slowly hobble across the room, Mycroft looks up at me, sighs, and continues reading the paper. Arriving at the other side of the room, I lay down on the couch and pull the phone out of my pocket.

>We're so alike...  
>Heading back.

I glance up at Mycroft, who seemed very intent on reading the paper and not noticing anything else. “They’re coming back Mycroft. You can leave..if you want to that is,” I say. He gets up, folding his paper. He stares at me for a moment before offering a warmish smile and walking out, taking his phone back.  
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	4. Chapter 4

My stomach is grumbling and I am steeling myself to get up to see what is in the fridge when footsteps come up the stairs. I smile as Sherlock comes through the door, followed closely by John, who goes into the kitchen. Sherlock just stands there staring at me, fidgeting slightly. Whatever he wants to say, he isn’t. Since when did he have a filter for delicate (I am only assuming) matters? He clears his throat, speaking absent-mindedly, “So...Aubri, is what Mycroft told me true? About mum and...” he trails off.

I look up at him then, and I see the pain of all of these years: his mother and little sister running away, then proclaimed dead. All those years of being the freak. And the shock of my arrival. I also see the peculiar boy of my childhood. The one who found my toys when I lost them, the one who I had never quite understood being a sociopath.

Right when I am about to speak, Sherlock’s phone rings loudly, and he pulls it out. His vulnerability disappears, replaced by his mask. He listens to the phone, walking toward the door as John comes out of the kitchen with a plate of food. I hear him grumble something along the lines of, “Just one meal Sherlock...” and he sets down his plate to follow Sherlock. I grab a piece of toast, my bag, and John’s cane, and headed out after them. I get downstairs just as they are getting into the cab. I hesitate as my brother stares at me, expecting my full name to come out. It doesn’t. Instead, Sherlock says, “Well, Aubrianna, are you coming or not?” I grin and hobble to the car, getting in next to him.

“So what have you found out so far Sher? What’s with the Lupus?” I ask him. He clears his throat, and starts talking, but slow enough for other people to actually catch what he is saying. “The lady was Rose Johnson and she was a Latin teacher at the local private school. The last time anyone saw her was when she canceled all of her appointments and tutoring times to meet with a mysterious stranger that interrupted her class. She dismissed all her students, and when one came back a few moments later to get a forgotten book, the room was empty of people. There were no sign of a struggle, but the only conventional exit from the school is the one the students had gone out of, and none of them saw her. The only other exit would have been the fire escape, which no one saw anyone on. I also noticed she had ink under her fingertips, which I assume came from the dictionary you found, Aubrianna. She died of arsenic poisoning, but had claw marks on her neck underneath her scarf. I noticed by the dust in the house that she had walked in there with a slight limp, a bigger stride (the man) walking close to her. From this data, I presu-” Sherlock’s words became garbled as I cover his mouth. “Sher. Seriously, you should consider breathing. It’s something humans do.”

He just sat there, staring at me, then he poked me in the side, and I took my hand away giggling uncontrollably. When the cab stopped, I got out as quickly as I could, trying to avoid more poking. Then I looked around and my smile stopped instantly. I hobbled off. I needed to see someone. I heard Sherlock and John calling my name before running to catch up with me.

“Aubrianna, where are we going?” comes from John before Sherlock can began to rant to me again. I determinedly ignore him as we began to enter the homeless village. Going down the street, people who know me cried out; I hear plenty of pleas directed towards us. Ignoring them, I hobble to the red door at the end of the street and rap on the dirty wood with my cane. Flanked by Sherlock and John, I feel impressive and unstoppable as he opened the door. The one who has tried to kill me four separate times. He takes one look at me, then tries to shove past my brother and I to escape. I quickly trip him with the cane, then push him down with it as he tries to wriggle away. As his panicked and cold, calculating eyes stare into mine, I can feel someone trying to pull me away. I punch the arm that is trying to pull me back, and I hear an intake of breath.

Pressing harder with the cane, I turn my head and look straight into Sherlock’s intense gaze. “Aubrianna, I don’t know what this man did to you, but we need to go. Come on,” says Sherlock as he tries to move me and the cane away from the man. “Sherlock no!” I scream, punching him in the arm again. “This scum, Destin Smith-” I hit the man with the cane. “Tried to kill me,” thwack “four separate times.” Thwack. “He paid off police officers so none would even come near me.” Thwack. At this point, I am sobbing with fury and my hands are shaking. John and Sherlock combined are barely able to drag me away from Destin, who is also trembling. I know he is faking it; he wants me to seem dangerous.

I am torn between hanging my head in shame in front of the crowd that had assembled or staring at Destin spitefully as Sherlock diala his phone, hopefully to the police to arrest the scum. As my adrenaline rush fades, my head becomes dizzy and my limbs weak, and I faint for the third time in three days, missing the arrest of Destin Smith.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	5. Chapter 5

When I come into consciousness, I fully expect a bed, but I am sitting up in an uncomfortable wooden chair, phones buzzing and voices calling back and forth all around me. I groggily open my eyes, squinting in the bright light of an office. Sherlock, Greg, John, and a bushy-headed women slowly swim into focus. I groan. They all look at me, then continue arguing. I groan louder and longer, trying to convey my head hurts too much to speak, I need food and water, and can’t move my limbs. They continue to argue, occasionally glancing at me. It is as I am brooding in my chair that I discover that I am tied to it by my good leg. Hearing no end in sight in the argument, I try to drift back into sleep, my head throbbing. It is as I am sitting there drifting off that I realize why that women in the house had looked familiar. I had discarded it as my sickness and tiredness when John, Sher and I had gone. My adrenaline rushing, I find the energy to blurt out, “WWF. WOMEN. LUPUS,” slightly garbled but at the full capacity of my lungs before I collapse and lose conscious control of my body. I can vaguely hear a silence, interrupted by phones ringing, before someone is hurriedly untying and then lifting me into their arms. Lights flash in front of my eyes, and then we burst out into the darkness of night. My carrier is running, me bumping up and down in their arms. “Hold on Aubrianna. You can do it, just another mile, Aubrianna...” my carrier continues speaking to me, trying to keep me conscious. Next thing I know, I am attacked by bright lights in front of my eyes and my carrier screaming for help, silencing wherever we are. I am dropped unceremoniously on a lumpy bed which promptly begins rolling past harsh bright lights. I then have a mask put over my mouth and nose, and I inhale the smelly gas, welcoming anesthesia with open arms.  
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	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock’s Journal.

September 6th, 2013: Aubrianna is being kept knocked out. Her ankle is all swathed up now; it looks five times bigger with the cast they put on it. Severe dehydration and malnutrition. Her eyes had looked so alive, I never suspected. Word has gotten out into the press that she’s my sister, and people come by to offer condolences to me, but no one stops by to see her except Greg and John.

September 11th, 2013: They allowed her to open her eyes for the first time today, but she didn’t move much, except for fluttering her eyes and sighing. Mycroft came by, and we exchanged a few words. He has contacted father, who is going to drive in if he can get off of work. I’m still trying to figure out what Aubrianna’s outburst meant. Too tired to think. Goodnight.

September 13th, 2013: Father can’t come in. Doctor says Aubrianna’s strength is building up again slowly, but that it may be a year before she can walk. Her eardrum burst, explaining all of her dizziness. She went into surgery for stitches in it. Now her legal guardian. Wouldn’t have believed all this would have happened two weeks ago. I’ve began wondering if mum is out there. When everyone’s gone I’ve cried for my pitiful, sick, and distant family.

September 20th, 2013: I feel so helpless sitting here as nurses hook up tubes to Aubrianna, take blood, or check her for life as if she is in a coma. They are keeping her knocked out again. John came by again, and made me eat, but I didn’t really taste it. He says he’s been researching Aubrianna’s outburst, and might have leads to solve the murder, but for the first time ever, I don’t care at all. I just want Aubrianna to be okay. I feel like I caused this.

October 1st, 2013: Destin Smith went on trial yesterday and is sentenced to ten years. When I read it in the paper, I ripped the story up and threw it out. He deserves to die for what he might have done to my sister. I have heard how she slept behind a dumpster in a cardboard box to hide from him. Aubrianna said my nickname very quietly today in her sleep and I broke down crying.

October 5th, 2013: I’ve been replaying Aubrianna’s three conscious days with me. She was so strong and persevering; it’s hard to believe she’s this potato that the doctors keep knocked out ‘for her own good.’ John solved the case and came by to tell me, but I didn’t catch a word he said. He looked so concerned for me. He left quickly when he realized I wasn’t responding or listening. Mycroft came by and tried to talk to me, and he suddenly struck me on the face. I hadn’t realized I was in shock until he did so. I feel even more horrible now that I’m conscious of my surroundings. A whole month in shock. God. These feelings. I asked for my violin, and Mycroft smuggled it past the nurses for me.

October 7th, 2013: Aubrianna is officially off of knockout gas, and I play my violin for her. She doesn’t respond much, but I pretend it’s healing her. I smiled today as she mumbled faintly along to ‘Once upon a December’, a song we sang to her as a baby. I began to see hope.

October 12th, 2013: They had to briefly knock her out again to remove the stitches in her ear. She said my nickname again in her sleepy state. I cried, but not as much as before. Later on, she hummed along louder than before to another song I was absentmindedly playing as I looked out the window. Her eyes were open! Don’t know how ‘here’ she was, but my heart thudded with joy. John came in as I was loudly playing the violin. We got so excited, the nurses came in and told me to stop because we were all making too much noise.

October 20th, 2013: She is able to sit up and I fed her some broth. Starting to feel less responsible for all this. She’s too tired to talk, but she did manage to smile and squeezed my hand before drifting off. The doctor says her health is increasing rapidly.

October 26th, 2013: Aubrianna and I exchanged a few words today. She is shocked to discover that it is near the end of October already. She complained about her big cast and how itchy it is. When she felt too sleepy, she asked me to play her a song to go to sleep by. I played her baby song. She smiled before drifting off.  
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	7. Chapter 7

I wake up for the first time in forever, feeling movement in my brain. I stretch and look over at Sherlock, who is asleep in the chair next to my hospital bed, violin and bow in hand. As I wait for him to wake up, I stare out at the weak sun that is shining in the window. Memories start to come back to me, and I wince. I also apparently make a noise, because Sherlock wakes up, looks at me and smiles so big and wide his face seems split in half.

Moments like this I wonder if he just pretends to not care or feel emotions. His human side is there, if you look for it. We're not night and day.

As he wakes up, he drops his bow, and then picks it up sighing. “How are you doing, Aubrianna?” he asks as he puts his violin away. He seems a little tense waiting for my answer. After assessing my state, I reply, “Good. A little sore in some places, I have the bloodiest itch on my ankle, but I do feel better than those three days.” The muscles in his back relax as he lets out a breath he probably didn’t know he is holding. “So Sher, what’s been up while I’ve been out?”

A silence accompanied that question, and I began to get a bad feeling in my stomach. Just as I am about to ask if someone else in the family is sick, Sherlock spoke slowly with venom, “Destin Smith has been sentenced to only ten years. Less, if he’s good.” My heart froze at this. “So I guess you have your Moriarty, Sher, and I have Destin as my archenemy,” I sigh as I lay back down. He grimly smiles at me before turning to the window.

Feeling a need to change the subject, I hug myself, and ask, “How are John and Mycroft?” Sherlock replies quickly without really focusing on answering. A tense silence falls. I am debating going back to bed when John walks in, sees that I am awake, and comes over to give me a big hug. “Hey John! How are you?” I ask, grateful for the interruption. “Okay, fine. Everyone’s fine. In fact, everybody is bloody perfect!” Sherlock grumpily shouts. John and I look at him, exchange glances, and watch as Sherlock grabs his violin and bursts out past the nurse who is coming in, probably to tell us to quiet down. She glances in, sees none of us are harmed, and walks out.

I clear my throat, but don’t quite know what to say. Eventually, my thoughts slow down enough for me to quietly say, “I..I think he’s upset about Destin. Or maybe now he wonders what happened to mum...” I trail off. John looks at me before walking to the door frame. His hand on the knob, he turns back to smile. “You need to get more sleep Aubrianna. I’ll try talking to Sherlock. Mycroft might be convinced to come here to watch over you if I can’t get Sherlock to come back. Goodnight.” At this, he opens the door, disappearing through it. I lay back, wishing my life was normal. But no, I am a Holmes, and almost by definition we all have archenemies, social problems, and stick out like a sore thumb.  
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	8. Chapter 8

I watch as the sun sets and the lights in the hospital flicker on all around me. No one had come back yet, and I frequently sigh. Twiddling my thumbs wasn’t keeping me occupied, so I wave to the security camera until a nurse comes in. I ask her for a pencil and some paper so I can draw and write. After she has given me several sheets of paper, a mechanical pencil, and a lapboard, she leaves the room, leaving a deep silence in her place. I hum “Once Upon a December” as I began to draw faces. People from the homeless village, their faces in utter joy or weeping. I draw the little boys that would play King-of-the-hill at the end of the street, atop a ramshackle pile of dirt and scrap metal.

I am so entangled within this mess of a drawing that I almost didn’t hear footsteps coming my way. My pencil hovers over one of the boy’s caps as I wonder if I could use my cast as a weapon. I am trying to lift it as Sherlock came in stormily, glancing at me and stopping in his tracks as he takes in my drawings and the current situation of my good leg being trapped under my cast. He comes over and hefts my cast, laying it back down in the big dented area it had been lying in before. He then takes my drawings, turning them in every direction as he looks at it. “Sher...” I mumble, putting as much feeling in my voice as I possibly can so I won’t have to say a million words for a meaning of a few. He looks at me, his eyes barely over the top of the paper. His face is closed, and I can not feel any of the emotions that burn like a fire in his eyes. I give up trying to understand him. Throwing the pencil and lapboard on the floor, I punch my pillow and will sleep to come.  
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	9. Chapter 9

I am awakened by tiny spurts of pain, and my brain claws away cobwebs as I awake. Blinking my eyes, a nurse swims into focus, her movements quick and precise as she takes out all the wires I am connected to. When my brain wakes up, I remember I am being released today. She slowly lifts me, and I force my movements to be slow so she doesn’t get mad at me. When I am finally in the chair, I lift my hand and cry Arrivederci to my prison. I find tapping my fingers absentmindedly while I chat with the nurse makes her wheel me along faster. I grin. The nurse wheels me past the automatic doors to where a cab is waiting. Now came the fussy part of this trip: how to get me into the cab without getting my cast wet (it is raining). With John supporting me, I try to stand up to walk the two feet to get to the cab. I swear, the nurse almost has a heart attack and lectures me as I stand there wobbling. I won't bore you through the process that followed to get my into the cab; in fact the city flew by in a blur as we neared Baker Street. Now that the nurse wasn't present, the movement to my destination was far easier. Sherlock is there, his face a mask as he carries me upstairs and lays me on the couch unceremoniously, returning to his microscope as John gives me food. John opens his mouth, looking at Sherlock before flopping down in a chair and pulling a newspaper in front of his face. “Aubrianna, catch!” cried Sherlock suddenly, as if he had forgotten something. I barely twisted around in time to catch a flying rectangle coming straight for my nose. Once I stopped panicking that it was going to knock me out, I realized it was a celly. I switched it on, and my heart sunk as I realized it needed a password. “Sher, what’s the password?” I directed over my shoulder. Silence only greeted me, and I sighed saying, “You’re mean. You know that right?” He chuckled as the phone beeped, announcing my guess of ‘ Rebellious’ was wrong. I next tried ‘Violin’, ‘Bookworm’, ‘March’, then ‘Aubrianna’, and finally 'Patricia', our mum’s name. I cheered as the password was accepted. The next moment, I realized why Sherlock was and is so moody; he is wondering if mum is out there still. If I hadn’t had a cast on, I would have given him a hug, but as it was, I had to lay there until Sherlock carried me already asleep to my bedroom.  
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	10. Chapter 10

Soft sunlight comes in through the window as I sit up and stretch, then swing sideways and stand up before I remember my current predicament. I land with a thud back on the bed, my head spinning slightly. John suddenly opens the door, glancing in because of the bang my cast had caused on the floor Once he ascertained I was not harmed, he comes in and carries me to the living room where a tray is set up with my breakfast. I give a half-hearted grumble of how I could have easily moved here from my room on the wheelchair by myself, as the way is flat, but neither my brother nor the doctor seemed ready for my independent movement. I dig in, the food a bit burned, but still good. I glance at Sherlock, who is gazing at me intently as if expecting me to solve his latest case. I turned around to make sure he isn't staring at something behind me and ask, "Why are you staring at me, Sherlock?" He stays in whatever reality he is in, not even responding until his phone rings three times. His intent gazing disappeared, and he pulls it out with a sigh. He listens, then nods at John and starts getting ready. Noticing me sitting on the couch looking at him, Sherlock pulls out his phone and texts someone on it before walking out with John. "Sherlock!" I yell after him. He comes back, looking at me impatiently. " Sher, make sure you text me everything. I do solve crimes, you know." At this he grins and turns on his heel, disappearing downstairs.

I only have to wait for a few minutes until Mycroft comes in, carrying a stack of newspapers to read. I am about to say something when my phone pings two times, announcing I have two new text messages. I unlock the phone, making a mental note to change the password. Two images pop up, one of the outside of a neat brick house with a white wood porch and a colorful garden, and the other of muddy footprints that seemed to dance around the front porch. I quickly type back that the care taken on that garden is astounding, and the footprints weren't smeared as if it were a mark of a struggle. I set the phone down, and looked at Mycroft. He is (unsurprisingly) buried behind a newspaper which blared out 'SHERLOCK'S SISTER DANGEROUS?' I stand up and hobbled to him, ripping the newspaper away from him, while he protests and complains how neither Sherlock or I can sit still. The article reads:  
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	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock Holmes, the famous ‘consulting detective’ of 221B, has lived with a secretive past that is only now being revealed. He and his brother, Mycroft Holmes, were shocked last month to discover their long-lost sister Aubrianna Maren Holmes was alive, but not well.

A nurse who wishes to remain anonymous reported Sherlock carried his sister into the hospital September 4th, around midnight.

“He was very distressed,” said the nurse. “He came in yelling and refused to let anyone in line in front of him. Not having time to ascertain what was wrong lead to her being knocked out prematurely.”

Sherlock, his colleague Doctor John Watson, and Aubrianna Holmes were sighted earlier that day while supposedly investigating a lead for a case. However, Aubrianna found and then proceeded to hit a Mr. Destin Smith with her cane, on the grounds that he had tried to kill her four separate times. Amelia Clark was witness to the whole scene. She said Sherlock refused to hand his sister over to the police, saying she was in unstable condition.

“I always knew [Smith] is bad news,” said Amelia Clark. “I also have known [Aubrianna] to be a peaceful and intelligent girl who helped solve crimes around the neighborhood. I can see why Destin would have motive to kill her, but I never expected Aubrianna to hurt someone else. While she was being held back by the short gentleman, she fainted and was carried off by her brother.”

Aubrianna has been supposedly living in the ‘homeless village’ for a total of seven years, where she lived with her mother Patricia Holmes, before her mum disappeared when she was ten. Suddenly forced to fend for herself, Aubrianna was then seen around town playing her guitar and acting as a counselor- or was she just amassing information for her crime-solving career?

After investigation, it has been found that Aubrianna charged services such as doctor visits and books to learn from for her solving of crimes ranging from burglary to kidnapping.

“Aubrianna showed up at my office one day with a client of mine,” said Doctor Ren Adams. “The client asked that I treat [Aubrianna’s] ankle, which had been broken. All cost was taken up by my client, and they parted after they left my office”

Inspector Lestrade has released a statement due to a recent inflow of questions involving Aubrianna .

“Upon the light of the recent events involving Sherlock and Aubrianna Holmes,” said Lestrade last Friday in his press conference, “it is still uncertain if New Scotland Yard will employ Aubrianna to work along with her brother and his colleague, John Watson, in the future.”

Destin Smith has been sentenced to ten years for attempted homicide, and has a fine of €250,000 for bribing police officers.  
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	12. Chapter 12

I throw the paper away in disgust, unbelieving of how I had been portrayed. I pick up my phone, which had pinged while I read the article, and pull up three more pictures. They show a shot of the body, and two picture of the surrounding area. Ignoring them, I fire off a quick text message to Sherlock.

>Have you seen the article about me?  
>Can’t believe it.

I lay back, sulking as Mycroft stands up with a sigh to go to the kitchen. He bangs around, and promptly the flat smells of warm, cheap cheese. My stomach rumbles, and I roll into a ball, bemoaning everything. However, I perk up when I hear my wheelchair coming my way. Mycroft holds it still as I settle into it, and then wheels me to the table in the dining room. Still venting about the article, I began eating my Macaroni and cheese. My celly pings again, and Sherlock’s response shows on my screen.

>What article?!  
>Coming back soon.

About ten minutes later, Sherlock throws open the door and stalks in with the paper in his hands. His face is flushed as he stops in the middle of the room. “A..Aubrianna, do you have any proof that Destin really did try to kill you? Because if you do, you won’t be seen as dangerous, and we could protect you from him easier,” says Sherlock, staring straight at me. I set my fork down and nod. I hold my finger up to stop Sherlock from speaking, steeling myself. “Give me a second, Sher,” and with that, I wheel myself to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

I stare at my face in the mirror, truly realizing how gaunt and shadowed it is. I then stand up, awkwardly sitting on the counter by the sink. I bite my lip, and start to clean the makeup off of my back, revealing a long scar from my right shoulder blade to my left hip. I check it in the mirror. It still stands out white and jagged. It had taken two ‘favors’ to amass enough of the right type of makeup to cover it before I came here. I sit back down in the wheelchair, opening the door and going out to the living room where Mycroft, Sherlock, and John are sitting or standing. Halting a few feet from them, I shakily stand up and turn around. I take a deep breath, and lift my shirt in the back to reveal it.

At first, no one moves. Then I feel Sherlock come and gingerly touch it, tracing it. I cover it with my shirt, and fall crying into my brother’s arms. He holds me and quietly hums “Once Upon a December.” When I feel I can't stand any longer, I heavily drop into the wheelchair, and look up at Sherlock.

His face strikes me with a pang. The mask that is always there does not exist as a solitary tear rolls down. He hastily rubs it off, blinking. He leans over and picks me up as if I was made of glass, haltingly saying to John, “Destin Smith will die for this. Come on.” John hastily grabs his coat, walking out after Sherlock. I hear Mycroft sigh as we go down the stairs and burst into the street. John hails a cab, and Sherlock carefully sets me down in it before climbing in. I try to stop the memories as the scar burns, but they come back neverless, making me start shaking as I began to cry. Sherlock makes calming shushing noises, and I stop, hiccuping.

When we reach the police office, Sherlock picks me up again, and carries me in. I notice he isn’t bothering to completely hide his face as the automatic doors swish open before us. Soon enough, I am sitting in the same uncomfortable wooden chair as before, showing the scar to an assortment of people. There is a collective intake of breath, and someone pulls out a phone saying they have concrete evidence that Destin Smith had tried to kill Aubrianna Holmes.

Everything passes by in a blur then; I have to tell the story multiple times: how I had been cowering behind the dumpster, trying to stop breathing so he wouldn’t hear me. How the short dagger had gleamed and he had laughed, a long, deep, evil belly laugh. How the dagger had ripped through my skin and I barely made it to a person in debt to me before I lose too much blood. How I had been secretly nicknamed miracle, as I barely escaped with my life. -  
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	13. Chapter 13

Next thing I know, I am dressing in a tiny public bathroom as I get ready for Destin’s trial. The nice clothing someone had bought me last night feels tight and uncomfortable as I try to tame my hair and remove some of the shadows from my face. I take a deep breath, then another one as I try to mentally prepare myself. As I sit back down in the wheelchair, I hear two voices walking by down the hallway.

“Just no smart-alecness, okay Sherlock? We can’t have you jailed for contempt again.”  
“I’ll try,” replies Sherlock.

I mentally see my brother trying to destroy his sarcasm as he and John walked away, their voices fading. When I can't hear them anymore, I ease open the door and follow them to the courtroom, my stomach a small nervous bundle deep within me.  
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	14. Chapter 14

The bright light streaming through the windows reminded me that once again, I have not slept. The courtroom had been teeming with chatter before I came in, but I wheel into the room in complete silence. I blush, and hope that my wheels don’t squeak or make some other embarrassing noise. The wheel gives a loud, lasting scream as I roll to where I am to sit. It comes slowly, but chatter slowly springs up around me again, and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. I close my eyes, leaning my head back. I can feel some tension, but only detect fear in a few people. Maybe they haven’t been bribed and this would be a fair case (more than my brother had gotten.)

A few moments later, the judge beats his gravel, calling for order. The chatter slowly winds down, and I hear one last whisper before all is silent. When the judge speaks, it is a deep and dry sound, like a call from across a windless desert.

“We are here today, ladies and gentlemen, in the trial of Destin Matthew Smith, who has been accused of attempting homicide and bribery of officials, all targeted towards Aubrianna Maren Holmes. He was tried and found guilty on the 30th of September, this year of 2013. We have gathered here today, the 29 of October, on the grounds that Aubrianna Maren Holmes has new, solid evidence that Destin Matthew Smith has tried, as previously accused, to murder her. We will present this evidence, and we will consider it, and will change Smith’s sentence accordingly. May this trial commence.”

Now a small mousy man ran out, carrying a bible, and walked up to each juror, having them say ‘I do’ after, "Do you understand and agree that you will well and truly try the cause now pending before this court, and a true verdict render according only to the evidence presented to you and to the instructions of the court?"

Some of them stop to think; others immediately take it. The once who feel afraid delay, but those that answered quickly have an impatient air around them. When they are finished swearing, the mousy man scurries back to the table, instantly passing from my mind.

Now the family lawyer, a Mr. Brooke Carters, stands up and begins to speak in his quiet and captivating manner. “My client, Ms. Aubrianna Maren Holmes, has proof in medical records of the physical damage that Destin Smith inflicted on her. This evidence will reaffirm his four attempted homicides,” at this, Mr. Carters sat back down, and the judge called again across the desert. “Do you, Mr. White, have anything you would like to say before presentation of said evidence?” the judge says, addressing Destin’s lawyer. After Mr. White says no, he didn’t, the judge now addressed Mr. Carters again, asking him for the evidence. I watched from where I am seated as he pulls several photographs out. I know they show the scar on my back, and someone (possibly Lestrade) went out and got photographs of the blood stains from that horrendous night. He presents them, plunging into technical talk about depth of the wound, length and other details of it, and then showing the pictures of the box, stained a deep red. There are some gasps, and I felt some determination well up around me. When the judge starts speaking again, I realize no one had organized witnesses for me. My stomach churns, and I hope the pictures have been enough. Mr. White declines presentation of evidence, not having any to present. This caused whispers to rise, and the judge beat his gravel, calling, “Order in the court! Order in the court!” We go about ten minutes before the curiosity of no evidence fizzles down and silence once again enters the courtroom.

The judge now speaks something that I can’t catch; it goes on and on, until he stops speaking, and I realize the jury is now dismissed. As we all wait, the sun slowly moves out of the high-set windows, lengthening shadows that are meagerly diminished by the lights blinking on above us. The jury is out for almost two or three hours, and I can not decipher their emotions as they walk back in. I nervously glance at Sherlock, whose face is deep in thought and distant, resting on his hands. When the jury is seated, the judge asks what decision they had come to- guilty or not guilty.  
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	15. Chapter 15

The cab is silent, and I am slowly nodding off from where I had fallen on Sherlock’s shoulder. The words of the jury and the judge are buzzing around in my head, and I am not sure if I should rejoice or break down crying. They had sentenced him to ten years with no bail. I had only ten years to recuperate, before he came back. And it was only a matter of time before Moriarty got tangled in this. I groan as my thoughts continued to swirl around like this. I don’t remember getting out of the car, but next thing I know, Sherlock is running towards me saying, “Aubrianna, watch out!” before he picks me up and carries me up to the couch in our house. I smile at the thought, and fall asleep.  
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	16. Chapter 16

My first thought when I awake to bright lights is that I am in the hospital again. But looking around, the opposite of that clean, orderly, white room met me. My home. I reach for the cane, and am able to get up and walk slowly out of the room towards the kitchen.

Tapped to the fridge is a message that reads:

Out following lead. Tried to hide the eyeballs best I could.  
There’s and some bread you can use to make toast, and a yogurt.  
Should be home around three or five.  
~Sherlock

I open the fridge tentatively to discover a towel thrown over a suspicious-looking jar. Ignoring the blob, I take out the yogurt. I clear a spot at the table, finding the newspaper still rolled up. I unfold it, noticing yesterday’s case is front page. I skim through the news brief, stumbling a little over ‘ten years’, my stomach churning again at the thought. Giving up on breakfast, I walk out to the living room. Sherlock shoots the wall when he is bored, but I dismiss the idea of taking that up as a pastime. I pick my phone up from the coffee table, turning it on to 0 messages. I have to type my mum’s name again, and re-remind myself to change it. I open messaging, and quickly type to Sherlock:

>Bored out of my mind. Where r u?  
>and where’s money so I can pay the cabbie?

I am examining what books are on the bookshelf when my celly pings, Sherlock’s message popping up.

>Only telling you if you've eaten.  
>Can’t let you get malnutrition again.

I bite back my sarcasm reflex, looking at where my yogurt is sitting on the kitchen table. Sighing, I hobble over and spoon some into my mouth, swallowing slowly. My stomach is still churning a little as I pull back out my phone to type out ‘yes’ to Sherlock. He texts back that some money could be found in the box underneath the skull, and that he is at 234 Abchurch lane. My heart leaping, I hastily find my bag, throw money in it, and hobble out of the door. I can almost feel London’s heartbeat as I hail a taxi, giving him the address as I watch the world pass.  
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	17. Chapter 17

As I am trying to catch details from the pedestrians we passed as my brother would, my phone pings three times, and I check it, curious. My heart freezes as the messages pull up.

Sherlock:  
Moriarty is back somehow. He’

Sherlock:  
He’s after you. run. Just

Sherlock:  
Dear god, run for your life.


End file.
